


Baguette is a Curse Word in Romanian

by himitsutsubasa



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Actor!Harry, Alternate Universe - Actors, Bread, Intoxication, M/M, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:11:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4281588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himitsutsubasa/pseuds/himitsutsubasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So what if Eggsy was super drunk at a hotel where he and his mates were staying while they lurked around a movie set. What if he’s in the lift when another person gets on and Eggsy realizes it’s Harry Hart, star of his favorite gentleman spy movie? What if Eggsy was eating a bit piece of bread just because and exclaims, “I’m a huge fan!!” spewing crumbs everywhere?</p><p>What if the elevator broke down and he was stuck, drunk in a small space with his favorite actor who he just spat food at?" - <a href="http://mustardprecum.tumblr.com/post/123331888133/so-what-if-eggsy-was-super-drunk-at-a-hotel-where">mustardprecum </a></p><p>Eggsy is in an elevator with Harry Hart. It goes about as well as anyone would expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baguette is a Curse Word in Romanian

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mustardprecum](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mustardprecum).



> No. Baguette is not a curse word in Romanian.
> 
> This is dedicated to the people you instantly feel like you can tell anything despite the fact you can never tell anyone anything and [mustardprecum who prompted this](http://mustardprecum.tumblr.com/post/123331888133/so-what-if-eggsy-was-super-drunk-at-a-hotel-where).
> 
> I can’t write drunk people for shit. Have "sobering up because that’s fucking Harry Hart” Eggsy who also had three rounds of a drink that makes the world’s most alcoholic drinks list.

Eggsy stared at the numbers. Fuck. Fucking shit. Fuckity fuck on a fucking stick. He stopped chewing on the loaf.

“We are not moving.”

Hart stared at him then turned to the numbers and in the driest voice, fuck that’s how he delivered that line in “Indomnitus”, said, “Appears so.”

Holy shit. Eggsy just heard the “I’m sorry, but this isn’t a film” line before Colin Firth shot Samuel L. Jackson in the face. It was AMAZING. Holy baguettes. 

Eggsy stabilized himself against the back railing of the elevator.

“Are you alright?”

“Alright? I just sprayed food at my favorite actor and now I’m stuck in an elevator with the same actor I’ve lusted after since before i was old enough to understand sex. YOU WERE MY SEXUAL AWAKENING AND I’M BEING SO AWKWARD. OH MY GOD. DO I SOUND ALRIGHT TO YOU?”

Oh shit. Harry’s gaze is as blank as the wall Eggsy’s leaning on and oh, there’s an arm catching him and guiding him to the ground.

“That’s quite flattering. What’s your name?”

“Eggsy.”

Harry, a little confused but no worse for that, turned to Eggsy. “What time is it Eggsy?”

“Um…”

Harry waved at the suit. “I’m in costume and without my phone. Pockets ruin the lines.”

That’s what they say about girl pants, Eggsy thought, but I still think Rox looks fantastic in her jeans. Not that he was going to say anything about the actress cast to possibly replace Harry Hart as Galahad after this film. This film they are currently filming. Holy shit. 

“It’s ten fifty.”

Harry grinned. “Ah. How many drinks have you had?”

“Three?” Eggsy’s chest tightened. It hurt a little to breathe.

Harry smiles a little. “What were they?”

“Sazeracs.” Eggsy winced a little at Harry’s reaction. Stupid! He should have lied and said something more classy, like a martini.

“Not a martini?” Exactly, Eggsy thought pointedly. Ugh.

“Never had one of those.” Harry Hart and his stupidly perfect face looked surprised, then gently sweet. Oh good lord.

Harry brushed his fingers over the back of Eggsy’s hand. Eggsy relaxed into the touch, letting Harry extricate the mobile with ease. “I should call the director. Let them know where I am.”

“You should,” Eggsy mumbled, slumping into the wall hoping it would swallow him up. He really should have just taken the stairs. Taken the stairs while drunk, but taken the stairs and avoided all this. He needed another drink. Hopefully one to erase the memory of this moment, the best and worst moment of his short and painful life, and possibly painfully short life, from his memory.

“Alright. I happen to have a Mr…”

“Unwin. Gary Unwin.”

Harry smiled at his proper name and Eggsy marveled at the fact he managed to do a James Bond worthy delivery while totally not prepared. He probably fucked that up, for the record. But, Harry Hart smiled at him, for the record.

Eggsy sat on the floor, cradling his bread. Why? Why, cruel world? Why?

Harry turned to Eggsy, concern written in his brows. “… Unwin with me. Good. I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

Twenty. Oh god twenty minutes in a hanging death trap with the man he probably just annoyed half to death of fucking course. Oh, god.

The phone was deposited into Eggsy’s pocket and strong arms wrapped around him.

“You seem in need of comforting.”

“I’m not in need of anything.”

“You seem shaken.”

Eggsy breathed in the sweet cologne that was probably Harry’s choice, not the director’s because scent didn’t travel across the screen so in all likelihood, the soft musky scent that was teasing his nose was Harry Hart. He smelled something like Eggsy would imagine happiness would smell like,  like home and happiness and sunshine and puppies and people coming home.

Eggsy’s breathing slowed and Harry cradled him closer, drawing Eggsy sideways until Eggsy’s legs draped over his lap and Eggsy’s tears dropped onto his probably very expensive tie.

“My da died alone. He was military, you know. I joined the marines for him.”

“Shhh…” Harry pressed a kiss to his hair, started stroking it like Eggsy was a puppy in need of comfort in a storm.

“He died alone. He left while I was at school. I never even got to say goodbye.”

“Eggsy, shhh.” Harry wiped a tear from his cheek. “Come on, darling. We’ll be out soon.”

“I just wanna sleep,” Eggsy sniffled.

Harry pulled him in even tighter, rocking him gently. “You will. Come here.”

“I feel like I can tell you everything.”

Eggsy felt a kiss against his temple and a hum against his shoulder. “I feel the same way."

The elevator dropped suddenly and Eggsy seized up, clutching to Harry with all his might. 

 “If I die in the next few moments, please know that I would have loved to shag you.”

Harry’s chuckles rumbled against Eggsy’s back. “Shag?”

“Had your dick up my ass? Yes,” Eggsy gasped.

“You’re not going to die,” Harry soothed, running fingers down Eggsy's arms, his neck, any skin he could get his hands on.

Egis’s breaths came a little fast, a little hiccupy.“I swear to god I am. I’m going to die and fans everywhere will post screenshots of the news with the comment ‘same’.”

“Eggsy, darling, you’re being a little overdramatic. Besides, that will be entirely counter productive.”

“Counterproductive?” Eggsy asked.

“Seeing as you’re an articulate drunk with a sparkling personality, I would very much like to fuck you too.” 

Eggsy flatlined for a second. 

“We got the door. Mr. Hart? Mr. Unwin?”

The two jumped, more rolled, apart from where they sat on the floor.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” Harry gave them his dashing smile. The ultra bright one. The runway one. Eggsy was pretty sure the guy opening the door swooned a little.

“Here you are.” Harry helped Eggsy to his feet, proper gentleman-like and guided him through the door.

“I’m not dead,” Eggsy whispered, a little awe, a little faint.

Harry guided them down the hall, relief coloring his gentle tones. “No, but you may have had a panic attack of sorts.”

Eggsy frowned. “Marine. Don’t get panic attacks.”

“I dare say you just did.” Harry led him along, producing a key card out of… somewhere. Eggsy couldn’t really think of where because Harry had said he didn’t have pockets.

“Wanna martini. Wanna sleep,” Eggsy muttered, definitely not pouting.

Harry pressed his cheek against the top of Eggsy’s head, definitely not delighted by Eggsy’s pout. “I think I’ll give you sleep first hm? A martini in the morning if you’re up for it.”

“Mrrrph. Why?” Eggsy slumped against him. Exhausted. Drunk-ish and exhausted.

Harry led Eggsy to the… wow… big and plush bed. “I told you, Eggsy. I rather like you.”

“I rather like you too.” Eggsy fell backwards into softness, like Harry’s voice.

Harry smiled down at him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I’m glad.”

* * *

 

Eggsy blinked against the glaring light.

A voice carried over from an armchair, from behind a newspaper. “I got, well, room service brought up breakfast. Bakey and Eggsy.”

“No one has said that since my father.”

“I checked. I am old enough to be your father.” The newspaper dipped low enough for Eggsy to see a face.

“You’re Harry Hart.”

Harry sighed, looking blandly into the middle distance like they were in a tv program or something. “I thought we got over that last night.”

Holy Shit. Eggsy thought. Holy fucking shit.

‘You said that about fifty time before you fell asleep. Then, you whined in your sleep until I got in bed with you. Then, you clung to me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Harry put the paper down. “You said that too. Eggsy, would you believe me if I told you that, despite my reservations, I would like to carry on a relationship with you?”

“Um…” Well, to put it straight and it was hard to do that, being bi and all and having Harry Hart sound like Fitzwilliam Darcy proposing so early in the morning. “No.”

Harry shifted to the end of the bed, a hand rubbing circles on Eggsy’s foot. “That’s what I want. I’m warning you now because…”

“This could get crazy,” Eggsy finishes. “Oh my god, I was in bed with you and I didn’t even shag you.”

“I don’t put out on the first date.” Did that mean… he would? Eventually? That he was willing to try long enough?

“But, Harry…”

“Eat your bakey Eggsy."

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how to curse in Romanian. Ask Sebastian Stan.


End file.
